Part 14 (1/2)
It must be conceded that the racing was poor, but then, so for the most part were the horses, thanks to the protracted drought and the necessity of their training consisting of the process of earning their keep. But the day was lovely--cloudless and golden--and the heat rose in a s.h.i.+mmer from the mimosa-dotted veldt and the dark, bushy slope of Ehlatini lining up to the vivid depths of heaven's blue. A sort of impromptu grand stand had been effected by placing chairs and benches along a couple of empty waggons, and at the corner of one of these Clare sat-- still holding her court--while her fervid wors.h.i.+ppers talked up to her from the ground. The luncheon hour was over--so, too, were the races, but the afternoon would be devoted to tent-pegging and other sports.
”Hallo!” said one of the favoured group. ”Blest if that isn't Lamont over there, and--he's got his coat on.”
”Where else should he have it, Mr Wyndham?” said the girl mischievously.
”He shouldn't have it at all. You know, Miss Vidal, it's an unwritten rule up here that none of us wear coats.”
”But I notice that you are all mighty particular about your collars and ties,” laughed Clare.
”'M--yes. But wearing a coat stamps you as a new-comer. Even Ancram here has fallen into our way.”
Ancram had, and moreover mightily fancied himself accordingly; and had turned on an additional swagger which he flattered himself still further marked him out as the complete pioneer. He had been introduced to Clare, but inwardly raged at the marked coldness in her demeanour towards himself. It was no imagination, he was satisfied, her frank sunniness of manner towards everybody else placed that beyond a doubt.
Others had remarked on it too.
”What have you been doing to Miss Vidal, old chap?” one of his newly-found friends inquired. ”She seems to have a down on you.” And Ancram had replied that he was hanged if he knew.
”Why, he's missed all the races,” went on the first speaker, referring to Lamont. ”He's looking a bit seedy too. And--no, he hasn't. He hasn't got on his revolver.”
”That's rum, for he never moves without it,” said another. ”We chaff him a bit about that, Miss Vidal, but he says he prefers being on the safe side.”
”Lamont would prefer that,” said Ancram significantly.
”Haven't you just been stopping with him?” said Clare rather sharply, turning on the speaker. ”He's a friend of yours, isn't he?”
”Um--ah--yes, yes. Of course,” was the somewhat confused reply.
”I'm not sure Mr Lamont isn't right,” she went on for the benefit of the rest. ”This is a country full of savages, and savages are often treacherous. Aren't they, Mr Driffield?”
”Aren't who, and what, Miss Vidal?” replied the Native Commissioner, who was in the act of joining the group. She repeated her remark.
”Oh yes. You'll get Ancram to agree with you on that head,” he added significantly.
”There!” she cried triumphantly.
”I say, though, Miss Vidal,” objected another man, ”you surely wouldn't have us all roll up at a peaceable gymkhana hung round with six-shooters, like the conventional cowboy? Eh?”
”Well, where should we be if a Matabele impi were to rush in on us now?”
she persisted. ”Utterly at its mercy, of course. Imagine it charging out from there, for instance,” pointing towards the dark line of bush on the slope of Ehlatini.
Some of the other occupants of the 'grand stand' here raised quite a flutter of protest. It was too bad of Miss Vidal to indulge in such horrible imaginings, they declared. It made them quite uncomfortable.
Many a true word was spoken in jest--and so forth. But the men laughed indulgently; utterly and sceptically scornful their mirth would have been but for the s.e.x and popularity of the speaker.
Many a true word spoken in jest! Yes, indeed. Here a lively holiday scene--the clatter of the horses, laughter and jollity and flirtation-- nearly a couple of hundred men, besides women and children, the former unarmed,--all save one. The wretched ryot returning at sunset to his jungle village is not more blissfully unconscious of the lurking presence of the dread man-eater, which in a moment more, will, with lightning-like pounce, sweep him out of existence, than are these, that yonder, upon the bushy slope almost overhanging their pleasure ground, a thousand armed savages are hungrily watching for the signal which shall change this sunny, light-hearted scene into a drama of carnage, and woe and horror unutterable. All--save one.
”You've got such a lively imagination, you ought to write a book about us, Miss Vidal,” suggested Wyndham. ”You could make some funny characters out of some of us, I'll bet.”
”I don't doubt it for a moment. Shall I begin with yourself, Mr Wyndham?”
”Oh, I say though, I don't know about that. Here's Driffield, he'd make a much better character than I would. Or Lamont--here, Lamont,” he called out, as the latter was pa.s.sing near. ”Roll up, man, and hear your luck. Miss Vidal is going to write a book and make you the princ.i.p.al character.”